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Josie’s heart slammed against her chest as adrenalin ricocheted through her body. She could barely make out the features of the enormous man standing at the foot of the bed, but she’d swear she could feel his anger.
‘What do you want?’ It was a reflex question—one she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer to—and it came out as a shaky whisper.
‘I want my bed.’
‘What do you mean, your bed? Who the hell are you?’
‘Connor Preston. I own this place,’ he said. ‘Who are you?’
The gruff timbre of the voice coming at her through the gloom was unnerving.
‘I’m Abigail’s business partner—Josie Marchpane. Abi said I could stay here for a while …’ She tailed off as his expression grew darker.
‘Is that right?’ He was abrupt now, unfriendly.
‘Look, do you mind?’ She forced her shoulders back and tipped up her chin. ‘I’m not exactly prepared for socialising right now. Can we talk about this in the morning?’
Connor dragged his gaze up from where her fingers grasped the towel and frowned. ‘Where am I supposed to sleep? You’ve taken the only bed.’
‘If I’d known you were coming we could have worked something out.’
‘Worked something out, huh?’
He dropped his gaze down her body, taking in the swell of her figure that the towel barely concealed. The disturbing throb began again, deep inside her. She reached round and pulled the towel tighter, unnerved by his attention. It was disconcerting, being half-naked in front of a total stranger. Especially one as unsettling as Connor Preston.
Dear Reader
Ah, the South of France—home of the most delicious sun-ripened tomatoes, Mediterranean storms and the sultry air of pleasure and possibility. The ideal setting for a workaholic with a chip on her shoulder to lose her inhibitions and finally start to live.
As characters on a page Connor and Josie have been on a long journey together. They’ve been shacked up in the electronic ether for a few years now, but they just wouldn’t let me into their secret world until I picked them up again a year or so ago and they finally started talking to me. Suddenly I got them—and about time too!
I love these two together. They’re both headstrong and determined but with a soft centre, both crying out for kindness and patience and a deeper understanding of what they intrinsically need. They’ve been running from their pasts and the weight of expectations for so long they’ve lost their way. Until they’re forced to share a house, sit still for once and talk.
I hope you enjoy travelling with them on their journey to emotional freedom and love as much as I did.
With best wishes
Christy X
Holiday with a Stranger
Christy McKellen
BK (Before Kids) CHRISTY MCKELLEN worked as a video and radio producer in London and Nottingham. After a decade of dealing with nappies, tantrums and endless questions from toddlers she has come out the other side and moved into the wonderful world of literature. She now spends her time writing flirty, sexy romance with a kick—her dream job!
In her downtime she can be found drinking the odd glass of champagne, ambling around the beautiful South West of England, or escaping from real life by dashing off to foreign lands with her fabulous family.
Christy loves to hear from readers. You can contact her at:
www.christymckellen.blogspot.com
http://www.facebook.com/christymckellenauthor
https://twitter.com/ChristyMcKellen
This is Christy McKellen’s debut for Modern Tempted™ and is available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk
Where do I start with the thanks? So many people have supported and encouraged me with my writing through the years. First of all my wonderful family. What would I do without you? You believed I could do it even when I didn’t.
To my brilliant critique partners: Jill Steeples, Cait O’Sullivan and Lucy Oliver. Thank you for the generous loan of your eagle eyes and the time you took to read the manuscript and help me make it sparkle.
To Aimee Carson, Kristina Knight, Merri McDonagh and Liz Logan for their continued support over the years.
To Flo, my fabulous editor, for believing in this story and making me dance for joy on the beach after The Call.
To my good friend Caroline—who will probably never read this—thank you for giving me the space and time to write.
Lastly, to Tom. You know why.
Contents
ONE
Connor Preston couldn’t believe his eyes. She was sitting on his bed in the moonlight, brazen as you like, with her slender back curved towards him. One arm propped her up, taking her weight, and her head was dipped, as if she were posing for one of those romance book covers he’d seen in the airport newsagents.
He guessed she’d just got out of the shower, because her long blonde hair hung in wet clumps around her shoulders. He watched in irritation as a water droplet ran down
